


Let Me In

by Pholo



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Feelings, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Shiro gets hella sick, Space Flu, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-06
Updated: 2017-04-06
Packaged: 2018-10-15 06:29:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10551628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pholo/pseuds/Pholo
Summary: Shiro chuckles. “All right, all right.” He steps back, and Keith’s hand slips from his forehead. “I’m sick. I’ve had worse.”Keith glares at him. “Have you tried a pod?” he asks.“Yes.”“And?”Shiro shrugs. “No dice. Must have picked up something unusual.”Keith’s eyes narrow. “That sounds dangerous.”“I talked to Allura about it. She says it happens sometimes...”





	

**Author's Note:**

> An anon on Tumblr requested "Keith taking care of a sick Shiro," so here we are!

“You’re being ridiculous…”

“Shut up. You have a fever.”

“It’s barely a cold.”

“Your skin feels like a space heater. _You have a fever_.”

Shiro chuckles. “All right, all right.” He steps back, and Keith’s hand slips from his forehead. “I’m sick. I’ve had worse.”

Keith glares at him. “Have you tried a pod?” he asks.

“Yes.”

“And?”

Shiro shrugs. “No dice. Must have picked up something unusual.”

Keith’s eyes narrow. “That sounds dangerous.”

“I talked to Allura about it. She says it happens sometimes.”

Keith’s mouth shifts like he’s trying not to bite his lip. He’s always worried about Shiro these days. After the fight with Zarkon (and Shiro’s subsequent disappearance) he’s barely trusted Shiro to use a fork without supervision.

Shiro takes pity on Keith and lifts his hands in mock surrender.

“I’ll go take a nap,” Shiro says. Keith visibly brightens. “We’ll see how I feel in an hour.”

In an hour, Shiro feels like shit.

Shiro had the presence of mind to bring a bucket with him to his bedroom; he leans over the edge of his bed, braced on his elbows with his head turned down towards the pail. Shiro waits with his mouth open, but can’t seem to throw up. It’s like there’s a briar patch trapping all the bile in his gut. Every once in a while his stomach seizes, and Shiro feels that telltale heat rush up towards his throat—but the vomit never quite reaches his mouth.

At last Shiro’s arms buckle under him, and his face hits the bed covers. Shiro turns his head back towards the edge of the bed. He tries to crane his neck over the side; the motion makes him dizzy. Shiro lies still, limbs achy and stiff, as nausea tears a hole through his stomach.

“Shiro?”

When did the door open? Shiro shuffles around until he can see the doorway; he squints against the glare of the hall light. Someone says, “Oh, quiznak,” and footsteps clap away down the corridor.

Time passes—how much, Shiro can’t say. He looks down at his fingers, latched around the corner of his comforter. Somewhere down the line they’d started to shake. Shiro reaches out with his left arm and curls the comforter over his torso. He doesn’t have the strength to actually crawl under the sheets, but the extra layer helps.

Shiro’s door closes with a “swish.” The light cast by the hallway fades to become another grey patch on the floor. Someone crosses the room; water laps at the sides of a bowl. Shiro’s bleary eyes find Keith’s as he kneels beside the bed.

“You look awful,” Keith murmurs. His cheeks are red, like he’s run all the way back to Shiro’s room.

Shiro’s stomach throbs again. He is seized by a manic urgency. Shiro finds the strength to lean over the edge of his bed, and he finally vomits up his breakfast. He considers it a testament to his navigational skills that the vomit lands in the bucket and not on Keith’s shoes. Keith runs his fingers up and down along Shiro’s back as he heaves, unfazed by the gross display. Shiro’s throat constricts once, twice, and the last bit of space-goo hits the bucket. Shiro shrinks back onto the bed. He sags, leaden with fatigue, as Keith rummages around on the floor.

A moment passes before Keith offers Shiro a cup of water; Shiro manages to sit up long enough to take a sip. The water works like a balm on Shiro’s throat. He drains the cup bit by bit as Keith wrings out a rag. Tiny droplets disrupt the quiet. Then hands retrieve Shiro’s now-empty cup. Keith pushes Shiro down so that his head meets his pillow, and he presses a damp towel to Shiro’s brow.

It’s like mountain air after a day of sewer maintenance. Beads of water trail down Shiro’s temples. The cold makes his skin prickle. Shiro turns, and Keith arranges the cloth to better cover his forehead. “Sorry,” Shiro rasps. His whole body trembles, but his head feels lighter. “I don’t mean to…make you look after me like this.”

“I want to help,” Keith says. He moves to tuck Shiro’s blanket more firmly around his body. “I wish you’d let me more often.”

“I can’t.” Shiro’s eyes sting. “I don’t want to put that on you.”

“Put what on me?”

“Everything.”

Keith pauses his ministrations. He moves up to the front of the bed with deliberate steps; then he reaches down and cups Shiro’s face between his hands. His fingers are cool from the rag. Shiro relaxes under the combined weight of his hands and the cloth. “I don’t care how many times I have to say this,” Keith says. “I want you to lean on me. I want you to be honest with me. I know you think you’re not supposed to ask for help. That’s bullshit.” Shiro wants to look away, but Keith’s hands keep him steady. “Shiro. I know you won’t believe me at first. But I want to help you. I want you to _talk_ to me.”

Shiro blinks up at Keith like a drowsy owlet. The blanket has returned some warmth to his body, and his shivers have mostly subsided. Keith’s hands trail down to Shiro’s shoulders. At last he sighs. He plucks the rag off Shiro’s forehead. “You terrify me,” he says. He ducks down onto the floor. Shiro still feels a twinge of nausea when he moves; he looks over the lip of the bed as Keith runs his cloth through the bowl of water. “Don’t move,” Keith scolds him. Shiro catches a flash of fabric as Keith scrubs a sleeve over his eyes. Shiro’s stomach drops. “Just lay back and try to sleep.”

“Keith…” Shiro says.

“It’s fine.” Keith straightens, hands full of freshly-watered cloth. He lays the rag back along Shiro’s forehead. Shiro catches Keith’s fingers with a flimsy gesture before he can move his hand away. Keith stares at the place where Shiro’s hand meets his, startled.

“I have flashbacks,” Shiro says. “I shut down and I don’t know where I am. I feel…nervous. All the time.” Shiro swallows. “I have nightmares about the arena. I dream I have to fight you, and you let me kill you. Every day I feel like I’m gonna’ lose you. Sometimes I wish I hadn’t survived.”

Keith’s eyes are glassy. He cradles Shiro’s shaking fingers.

“I don’t want you or the rest of Voltron to think less of me,” Shiro says, and he winces as his muscles seize. “I don’t want you to worry—but obviously you’re going to worry anyway. So…”

Keith steps closer. He brings Shiro’s fingers to his chest. Shiro feels the fabric of Keith’s shirt and the brush of his fingertips, and the world softens. Shiro’s stomach clenches still, but the connection points distract him from the nausea.

“Thank you,” Keith says. He smiles—a tiny, gentle thing—and squeezes Shiro’s fingers. He says it again, softer this time: “Thank you. For telling me.”

Shiro slows his breaths until they’re in time with Keith’s. Keith runs his thumb up and down along the back of Shiro’s hand.

“Allura mentioned some medicine earlier,” Keith whispers. “She should have it ready by now. I’ll be right back.”  

Shiro’s eyelids start to droop. Keith disentangles their fingers. The warmth lingers even as the distance between them lengthens; Keith looks over his shoulder as he leaves.

Shiro sleeps, and dreams of nothing.

**Author's Note:**

> Obligatory song rec: Music Lab Collective's piano cover of "Across the Universe."
> 
> It was good to take a break from "Sideways." Hopefully the final chapter'll be up soon; I'm finding it really difficult to finish!
> 
> My Tumblr: http://mighty-trash.tumblr.com/


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